Summer of the Dragon
by poorpiratelass
Summary: Modern AU based on the Elizabeth Peters novel. Anthropology student and single mom Emma Swan would be a fool to pass on a paid internship spent on the wealthy, eccentric Beverly Lucas' Arizona ranch. Once she arrives however, Emma finds something is very wrong on the ranch, and the only person she can trust is also a man she can't stand: arrogant archaeologist Killian Jones.
1. Chapter 1

Summer of the Dragon

Modern AU based on the Elizabeth Peters novel. Anthropology student and single mom Emma Swan would be a fool to pass on a paid internship spent on the wealthy, eccentric Beverly Lucas' Arizona estate. Once she arrives however, Emma finds something is very wrong on the ranch, and the only person she can trust is also a man she can't stand: arrogant archaeologist Killian Jones.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I sadly have no rights to _Once Upon a Time_ or anything written by Elizabeth Peters. There will be no profit made off this fan fiction. I write this for my own amusement, as well as my obsession with all things Captain Swan.

* * *

Chapter One:

Emma Swan was going to Arizona because she had no other options.

Less than two months ago had seen Emma, an anthropology student approaching the final year of her doctorate, in need of an internship to meet her program requirements and in danger of spending her summer without one.

"I know you pride yourself on not sugarcoating, Miss Swan, and so I'll be very blunt," her academic advisor Dr. Regina Mills had told her when Emma appeared in her office, on the borderline of panic. "With your record, you'd be lucky if a _non-paid_ internship program was willing to induct you into their ranks, let alone one offering a salary."

Regina's office mirrored her personal, no-nonsense style perfectly. The desk was black, and clear of clutter. Her only concession to personal or unnecessary items on her desktop was a single, small, clear glass apple. Behind her modern, leather office chair was a single window, crowned by a simple but elegant black shade. Both of her two walls were painted stark white and free of any sort of kitschy or homey decorations, let alone personal photos. Instead there were a few mirrors hanging, all with sleek black or chrome frames. And Emma had never seen such clean warped glass on a university professor's glorified cubicle in her life.

Regina herself was also coiffed and pressed to perfection in one of her smart pantsuits… this one in dove gray. Her shoulder-length, dark brown hair was straightened and styled with a finesse Emma did not possess: there wasn't a single hair out of place. Emma looked like Regina's polar opposite. Her long blonde hair was mussed from the wind, the tee shirt under her red leather jacket had a suspicious stain on it she was trying to hide, and there was a hole in her skinny jeans. Her knee high black boots were scuffed at the toes, and her faithful study bag no longer latched shut.

She looked and felt like a mess, and her professor's blunt, less than optimistic assessment of her situation was not helping. Sighing, Emma leaned forward in her chair and balanced her elbows on the edge of Dr. Mills' desk. The elegant, scholarly woman turned up her nose at such a gesture and sent Emma a withering, reproachful look. Emma ignored it. After three months of tireless searching for a paid internship or even a bit of student grant money, Emma had nothing to show for it but bags under her eyes, a big fat stack of rejection letters, and intense disappointment. She could care less about Regina's preferred desk etiquette.

"I can't afford to take a non-paid internship," she said for the millionth time. "I have to think about Henry."

Henry was her kid, a nine-year old spitfire that, like all kids, cost a lot of money. Taking a summer off from a steady income was not and would never be an option.

There was a short pause. "Yes," Regina murmured. "You do. I understand that. But that doesn't change the facts, Miss Swan. You were on academic probation in undergrad. Then you had to take a two year leave of absence. Then you were on probation _again_ your first year of your master's program."

Emma tried to speak, but Regina spoke over her.

"Yes, your academic record since beginning your doctorate has been _flawless_ , but the precedent has already been set, Miss Swan. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Those theft charges may not have come to fruition, but they still existed at one point. Your little juvenile delinquent romp during your early college years is on record, and potential sponsors _see_ that."

Emma sighed again, clenching her fists. She didn't feel like rehashing _that_ mistake… in fact, Emma rarely had the stomach to discuss her lapse of judgment in her second semester of freshman year. The odds were stacked against her; the odds were always stacked against her. It didn't matter that she was innocent of any criminal acts; her past looked shady, and that's all a review board would see. They didn't see the one hundred percent good reason she had for taking a break, or the circumstances that had led to probation. All they saw was a careless student who couldn't handle her course-load.

She was getting used to the rejection, though. It was the same old story, every time, no matter what she was trying to achieve. Nobody wanted her, and that was that. Emma Swan was always undesirable.

"Ingrid Fisher is a renowned archeologist, you know," Regina informed her next, and Emma cringed. "I don't see what it could hurt to ask your mother for assistance. She might have more luck finding you an internship than either you or I."

Emma rejected the suggestion almost automatically. "No," she shook her head. "Ingrid's an archeologist, and her field of study is almost entirely limited to Scandinavia. Her connections rarely extend to my field."

She did not say that Ingrid had already attempted to find her something and was met with the same sort of rejection that Regina had just described. From Regina's raised eyebrow, she figured her advisor had already figured that part out on her own.

"And I suppose working _with_ your mother would be out of the question?" Regina asked – rather snidely, if truth be told. "Archeologist or not, she is currently overseeing excavations in remote areas of Norway, and finding ancient bones. Surely she has need of a physical anthropologist."

"Look, I can't work with Ingrid," Emma snapped. "I love her; she's great. Don't get me wrong, I owe her a lot and I would never be where I am right now without her… but I _can't_ work with her. She will try to teach me dead languages I have no interest in learning. She will try to explain to me why old broken pots are equally as important as fossilized bones. I'm not arguing that they're not, ok… I just don't want to study them!"

She was on the edge of panicking again. Emma took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Ingrid was not her birth mother; Emma had actually grown up in foster care. When she was fourteen, she landed in Ingrid's house and for some reason, Ingrid had decided she was it; they were going to be a family. She'd adopted Emma officially less than six months later. Emma knew Ingrid loved her. More importantly, Emma loved Ingrid. The woman had raised her through her high school years, stood by her side during the roughest times of Emma's life, and paid for her undergraduate schooling. But Ingrid also had an annoying habit of thinking she knew best… all the time, about everything. When Emma had flunked an introductory course to Ingrid's field of study, her mother had been sympathetic but also tried to get her to retake it. When Emma had declared anthro as her major, Ingrid's mouth had gotten all tight and her smile super fake, and Emma had physically recoiled at the way Ingrid had said, "That's wonderful, dear." Emma's field of study had been a point of contention between the two of them ever since. In fact, to this day Emma was sure Ingrid was more disappointed about her career choice than she was about the unexpected pregnancy that forced her to take a two year break from her studies.

"I greatly sympathize, of course," Regina said through her teeth, and Emma had the feeling that she'd officially worn out her advisor's patience. "But as I said at the beginning of our interview, Miss Swan, you are sorely lacking in options… and beggars can't be choosers."

Emma got that; she got that better than anyone. She was a single mom, struggling her way through her doctorate degree while working two part time jobs. When she'd been pregnant with Henry, Ingrid had stepped up and helped her, while Henry's father had turned tail and ran. That didn't change the fact that Emma had a kid to support; Ingrid would always be there for her, but she wasn't about to give her twenty-eight year old daughter a free ride. Still, an internship was essential if she had any hope of graduating and an internship meant quitting at least one job, if not both. Emma couldn't afford to take one of the unpaid internships out there, not with a kid to support. She knew Ingrid would take her on and find her some money but… god, the idea of begging her mother for work was _humiliating_. Plus, Emma would kill her before the summer ended.

"I have one internship offer," Regina said with a certain sort of finality that instantly put Emma on edge. It sounded as though her advisor was preparing to send Emma to her doom. "It's paid. But there's a catch."

Regina took a long pause, straightening the three papers she'd allowed space on the immaculate desk. The papers didn't need straightening; they were already in a perfect, tidy stack. Emma watched her warily. "Well? I haven't got all day, Regina."

Her advisor's lip curled unpleasantly. She hated when her students called her Regina. She hadn't spent good money and time earning a doctorate only to _not_ be called Dr. Mills. Emma knew that, and so when her advisor grated on her last nerve (which was often) she _always_ called her Regina.

"The catch is that you'd be working for Beverly Lucas."

Emma frowned. "I don't understand. Who's Beverly Lucas, and why don't I want to work for her?"

Regina rolled her eyes. "Of course you don't understand. Miss Swan, how many times have I stressed the importance of networking? Our type of work requires _funding_ , and obtaining funding requires knowing who the potential wealthy patrons are, and how to sway them to your cause."

Emma rolled her eyes back. "Yeah, I get it. I need to pick up the latest issue of _Forbes_. Who's Beverly Lucas and why don't I want to work for her?"

"She's a billionaire," Regina retorted. "Has been since she discovered oil on her family's old horse ranch. She took that money, considerable as it was, and invested in anything that turned a high profit. But big business isn't her only interest. I don't suppose I have to remind you of the various crackpot theories floating around out there about Atlantis and the Mayan calendar, not to mention the rage that is Xenoarchaeology…"

"Oh, damn it," Emma groaned, flopping back dramatically in her chair. " _That_ Beverly Lucas."

"So you do pay attention," Regina retorted dryly. "I suppose I wasn't mistaken in giving you that A last semester."

Emma didn't pay much attention to the various wealthy donators who affixed themselves to anthropological causes and signed checks to further discovery. She knew it was expected of her to rub elbows with those people, to charm them and sway them with long grant application letters stressing why something they didn't understand was so important to the field they'd chosen to support. But Emma had never been too good at begging. She was infamous for not asking for help... and truthfully, being around wealthy people made Emma feel uncomfortable in her own skin.

But Beverly Lucas was fairly well known at the doctorate level as being the wealthiest and most generous of patrons… the problem was that she often chose the most crackpot, improbable and unscholarly theories and projects to support. She gave money to charlatans and con artists passing themselves off as mediums, dowsers and reincarnated princesses just as readily as she gave money to universities and scientists.

"Mrs. Lucas is a very generous sponsor," Regina went on slowly, watching her critically. "You'll be staying at her ranch, of course, which means in addition to a sizeable monthly stipend, you'll also be living in the lap of luxury. A large estate with servants, multiple cars, probably a pool… and the food, Miss Swan. The food, I am told, is out of this world. You'll get fat."

Emma's jaw dropped at that. "I will not!" she exclaimed indignantly. There was barely an extra inch of fat anywhere on Emma's lean, toned body. Her metabolism was excellent. She exercised regularly and took more pleasure out of physical exertion than any other kind. She'd never been overweight a day in her life, and to be honest, she resented the comment.

Regina snorted. "I've seen the way you eat. I know how the story ends."

Emma's mouth was still open. Regina skimmed right over her indignation. "You understand, of course, that Beverly Lucas's money and good opinion could open a lot of doors for you, Miss Swan," the advisor continued. "But it could also close a lot of others. There are a lot of scholars out there who would see any association with her as a black spot on a young anthropologist's reputation… and quite frankly, I'm not sure you can afford anymore of those."

Emma clenched her fists tighter, wrapping her leather jacket sleeves around her palms. Before she could say anything to that, the office door slammed open and in flew a short, skinny, brown-haired little cyclone of energy.

"Hi, Mom!" Henry greeted her, hugging her hard from the side. Emma grunted as he knocked the wind out of her. Henry let go and raced around the other side of the desk, throwing himself at Regina next. "Hi, Dr. Mills!"

A rare genuine smile lit up Regina's face. "Hello, Henry. Did you enjoy school today?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "We're studying ancient civilizations in history!"

"That's wonderful! Would you like me to help you with your homework?"

"Henry," Emma interrupted, trying to sound calm and collected and like a nice, cool mom, instead of the raging tornado of stress this meeting was threatening to turn her into. "I know you're happy to see Dr. Mills, but we've talked about interrupting my meetings with her without knocking first."

Henry looked abashed. "Sorry, Mom. I'll wait outside."

"Where's your sitter?" Emma pressed. "Did you leave her outside? Cause, you know kid, we've also talked about you running off on your own and scaring the hell out Johanna."

Henry looked more sheepish still. "Oops. I'll call her. Phone?"

Emma rolled her eyes, but handed over her cell. Henry took it and pressed the number for his babysitter Johanna, a soft-hearted, short, admittedly frumpy older woman with wild red hair.

"When you guys are done, can we get ice cream?" Henry asked, already halfway out the door.

Emma smiled in spite of herself. "Sure," she relented.

"Can Dr. Mills come with us?"

Emma glanced at Regina, whose big, genuine smile only grew wider. Honestly, Emma found it unsettling. "I'd like that, Henry," Regina said.

"Cool. I'll be outside!"

He ducked back out the door and shut it gently behind him. Emma watched his silhouette through the warped glass walls as he took a seat on one of the hard, faux-wood benches lining the administrative hallway. Regina looked at her hesitantly.

"I'll be overseeing summer semester at the university this year," she told Emma. "No digs or conferences for me. If you take this internship, I'd be more than happy to have Henry stay with me."

Emma softened. She and Regina butted heads constantly, but more often than not Regina had Emma's best interests at heart. She wanted her students to succeed… and she _adored_ Emma's son.

"Thanks," she said. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. If there's any way I can keep him with me _and_ take an internship, I plan to do it."

Regina nodded. "Of course." She hesitated, fussing with the papers on her desk again. They looked official, and Emma wondered if that was the internship offer. "Look, Emma, maybe you should think about this. I'm not lying when I say this could hurt your academic career as much as help it."

The use of her first name almost gave her pause; Regina actually seemed concerned about her. But Emma wasn't backing down now; there was too much at stake. "Just tell me what's up, Regina."

Her advisor sighed heavily, noticeably cringing once again at Emma's informal address. "All right, Miss Swan. Here are the facts. Should Mrs. Lucas accept your credentials and grant you the internship, you will have to travel to Phoenix, Arizona at the start of summer semester. Her ranch is located some distance from there. You'll be staying in her home, in order to observe and catalogue what she considers to be a great find in the land surrounding her estate. She wants your opinions about the find, and she wants you to convince the university of its validity. All expenses will be paid, of course, and you will receive an additional income of four thousand a month."

Emma gasped. _Four thousand a month_. It was unheard of for an internship… it was more than she made now. "Are you freaking kidding me?" she exclaimed.

Regina stared at her, looking droll. "No, Miss Swan. I am not kidding you."

"I'll take it!"

"Of course you will," Regina rolled her eyes. "Did I not just suggest you think about this? I know it sounds like a good deal now, but Emma… there can be long-term negative consequences."

"I get that," Emma retorted. "If there are consequences, fine… I'm pretty good at dealing with consequences."

Regina lifted her brows but kindly made no comment.

"You said it yourself," Emma persisted. "I'm out of options."

"Yes," Regina agreed. "You are. I'll send your credentials. We should know in a couple weeks."

Barely two weeks later, Emma received her acceptance letter, her plane tickets, and an advance on her salary. She had an internship, she was going to graduate, and not only was she going to Arizona for the entire summer, but she'd been assured that Henry could come too. It would have been insane to pass such an opportunity up.

Emma could only hope she hadn't just committed career suicide.

* * *

It was barely more than a month after Emma's fated meeting with her advisor when she and Henry finally stepped off the terminal at Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport. Their flight had landed just after noon. Flying to Phoenix from Boston had taken just under six hours, but Emma wasn't about to complain. She and her son had just flown first class for the first time in both their lives, and it was all on someone else's dime. When multi-billionaire Beverly Lucas says she'll pay all expenses, she freaking means it… the woman had actually apologized for not sending her private plane.

Emma moved cautiously through the overcrowded airport, carry-on in hand, and did a quick, eyes-only sweep of the immediate area. Beside her, Henry almost instantly made to dart forward, a predictable move on his part, and she snatched him by the collar before he could wander off too far. "Stay close, kid," she scolded.

"I know, I am," he practically whined, squirming against her restraining hold. Emma rolled her eyes affectionately and released him. Henry made no move to rush off again. At nine going on thirty, her precocious, inquisitive kid was getting to be a serious handful. Emma took a moment to attempt to fix his dark hair, which was standing up in the back. Then she steered him towards baggage claim with a gentle nudge, smiling as he clutched his favorite book to his chest and took in his surroundings with wide, dark green eyes.

The airport was open, airy and spacious, with high ceilings spanning two or three stories above their heads. Everything was white, from the thick cement columns to the metal walls to the shiny floor tiles. The walls were made of windows, tall no-pane windows that let bright desert sunlight stream into the building. Emma could see the desert sprawling out around the building in one direction, smears of dusty browns and reds that stretched for miles. In the opposite direction was an excellent view of the expressway, several lanes wide and unnecessarily tall, jam-packed with afternoon traffic. Emma smiled at Henry, watching him look all around them and take in both views with equal amounts of awe. Then he pointed at a potted plant near the baggage claim.

"Mom! It's a cactus!"

She laughed. "Yeah, I guess we'll be seeing a lot of those here," she said, finally reaching the baggage claim. Henry stayed at her side, but watched everything except the bags on the conveyor belt. "See anyone that looks like they're here to greet us?" she asked him, watching the carousel for the rest of their luggage. Henry glanced around the airport for exactly that while Emma finally spotted their stuff and began yanking the suitcases of the conveyor belt.

"There! Mom, look!" Henry exclaimed suddenly, and then proceeded to point and wave and dance in one place. Emma grabbed the last of their luggage and turned around. A man holding a large white sign that read "Emma and Henry Swan," had spotted her son's theatrics (of course he had, along with half the airport) and was now heading towards them. He moved across the white tiles, expertly dodging the continuous lines of people, marching like ants though the open space with their bags and coffees and cell phones against their ears. Emma froze, gulping in spite of herself. There was no away around it: the man with the white sign was _hot_.

He didn't just walk; he sauntered, every movement purposeful, exaggerated and catlike. He was tall and lean, tight muscles plainly visible even under his long sleeve white Henley. Really, Emma practically scoffed inside her head, already searching him for flaws… who wore long sleeves in one hundred degree plus weather?

For a man who lived in Arizona, he was surprisingly pale, but there was a clear rosiness to his cheeks that came from being outside. The man must have been a fan of sunscreen, probably a necessity considering the obscene amount of chest hair on display. His shirt, of course, was a ridiculously deep V, designed to show aforementioned chest hair, not to mention a well designed clavicle and a hint of sculpted pectoral muscles. Emma rolled her eyes. He was trying too hard, she decided, and she was determined to be unimpressed.

His hair was black and only slightly too long, artfully mussed and hanging in his eyes. Sex hair, Emma thought ruefully, managing not to sigh. Henry would ask what was wrong, and Emma had no interest in explaining to her nine-year-old that she was ogling the man who was apparently acting as their chauffeur. There was reddish brown scruff on his jaw and a little silver ring in his ear, and all that combined with the swagger and the sex hair and the guy's ridiculous man-cleavage made him look like some sort of storybook pirate.

He'd reached them now, and his greeting smile was hardly a smile; it was more a smirk or maybe a leer and it dripped with suggestion. "Emma Swan?" he asked.

Oh, well that was fantastic. He had a British accent.

"That's her," Henry spoke up right away, and Emma was almost grateful her nine-year-old was commandeering the conversation. "She's my mom. I'm Henry!"

"It's nice to meet you, Henry," the man smiled at her son. "I'm Killian Jones. Mrs. Lucas sent me to retrieve you."

Emma took a deep breath and looked Mr. Sex Hair right in the eye… and unfortunately added pretty blue eyes to her mental inventory of Killian Jones' appealing attributes. (Also, he might have been wearing guy-liner. Emma tried to convince herself that was a flaw.) Someone else might have blushed or giggled or fluttered their eyelashes and flirted a little. Emma did nothing of the sort. She'd schooled herself not to do things like that, not anymore. Handsome men were no longer on the agenda, and they hadn't been for years.

 _We don't have time for any of that_ , she reminded herself firmly. She couldn't afford to make time for that, either.

"Hi," she said, finally greeting him, though she hadn't intended to sound quite so breathless. She cleared her throat and pushed on. "Um… thanks for coming to get us."

"It's hardly a problem, lass," he replied, winking. "I do get paid for it."

"Emma," she returned pointedly, glaring at him.

Killian Jones grinned, and Emma was pleased to see that his grin bordered just on the wrong side of lecherous. Good; it would be much easier to dislike him if he was a creep. "No, love," he teased. "I'm Killian."

Henry giggled, the traitor.

"I'm not big on pet names," she retorted. "Really, I'm not trying to be rude, but I'd prefer it if you'd call me by my name."

"Of course," he agreed amicably, still grinning brilliantly. Emma narrowed her eyes, hand squeezing the handle of her carry-on tighter than necessary. He swept up the majority of the luggage, balancing a couple bags on his left forearm rather than hold them in his hand. "You're all settled, then? Ready to go?"

"Yeah!" Henry agreed enthusiastically. Killian had another smile for him; a smile that turned right back into a smirk when he made eye contact with Emma and quirked his eyebrow. He had insane eyebrows: dark and thick and out of control. One lift of his left brow was practically indecent.

"We're ready when you are," Emma replied to the eyebrow.

"Spectacular," he said, gesturing to the left. "The car's that way; my apologies, it's a bit of a walk. Follow me, _Swan_."

The pointed use of her surname rather than her given name did not escape Emma's notice; she just chose to ignore it. If he wanted to call her Swan, that was fine by her. As long as he didn't call her lass, or love, or god forbid, _darling._

Henry walked alongside Killian, still hugging his book, and started asking him questions. Emma was glad for the distraction. "Mom's phone says it's 102 outside. Is it always this hot?"

"In the summer, aye, lad."

"Are you from England?"

"Aye."

"When did you move here?"

"A few years ago."

"Why are you in Arizona?"

"Why not?"

"No reason… just, isn't it really far away from home?"

"Ah," Killian smirked down at Henry and lifted those insane eyebrows again. "Well, perhaps Arizona is my _true_ home."

Henry liked that answer; Emma could tell. He looked up at Killian Jones like he was the most fascinating man in the world… and then promptly asked him another question.

"What's England like?"

On and on the questions went. Killian answered them all with succinct, teasing answers that never really provided any actual information. Henry didn't seem to notice. Finally, Emma took pity on the man as they stepped through the automatic doors into the pick-up/drop-off lot.

"Henry, cut the man a break, will you? Not everyone likes to be asked so many questions."

"Oh," Henry said. He shrugged and smiled. "Sorry!"

Killian chuckled. "Don't be sorry, lad; I can't say I minded all that much."

Henry took this as a green light to ask more questions. Emma didn't intervene again; as far as she was concerned, Killian Jones had officially asked for it.

Outside the airport, the heat was oppressive but dry, like she was standing in front of an open oven. Instantly, Emma was sweating through her tank top and wishing she'd pulled her hair back. She was just glad she'd packed a weather-appropriate wardrobe for this trip; it was going to be a long summer in this heat.

She followed Killian and Henry through the parking lot, finally stopping at a vehicle that Emma was sure would cost her ten year's worth of her usual salary. The car was long and glossy black, and Emma presumed it was trimmed in chrome (later, she'd learn the trim was silver – _real_ silver – but at that point in time, such an extravagant thought would have never occurred to her). The marker on the trunk proudly proclaimed the car a Rolls Royce, and Henry immediately ran to the front bumper to ooh and ahh at the (real) silver wolf-shaped hood ornament.

"Wow," Henry breathed, speaking Emma's thoughts. "Mom, look!"

"I'm looking," Emma replied, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's a nice car."

"Is this yours?" Henry asked Killian.

"Afraid not, lad. This belongs to Mrs. Lucas."

"Wow," Henry breathed again. "She must be really cool."

Killian laughed. "Aye, lad. That she is."

"And really rich."

"That too."

Emma watched as Killian popped the trunk and loaded it with their bags. Then he opened the back door and gestured at Henry. "In you go, lad. Will the lady prefer the backseat too?"

He winked at her and Emma simply stared, deadpan. "I'll sit up front," she said.

"As you wish," he replied, shutting the door behind her son. Emma reached for the passenger door, but Killian rushed to beat her, prying open the door and bowing his head slightly in what was certainly a mockery. Emma rolled her eyes and took her seat, allowing Jones to shut the door behind her.

It wasn't until he was seated in the driver's seat and twisting off his prosthetic hand that Emma even realized he had one at all. Normally, she was more observant than that, but Jones was the swaggering, arrogant, perfect picture of confidence and competence, and it had never occurred to her that he might be missing a limb (truthfully, she might have been too distracted by his pretty face and his ridiculously low neckline to notice any absent hands). Emma's eyes were embarrassingly wide, her surprise getting the best of her, and she forced herself to look away lest she make him uncomfortable. "Apologies, Swan family," he said lightly, tucking the prosthetic in a case and pulling out a new one. This prosthetic was more of a hook, Emma noted, but not sharp or threatening. "But they get so touchy about the hook thing nowadays, especially in airports."

It _was_ the modern version of the pirate hook: a metal U fastened upside down in the piece that attached to his arm, and curved over to, well, hook onto things. Killian finished fastening his hook in place and then tossed the case in the back with Henry.

"Wow," Henry breathed behind them as Jones clipped his prosthetic over the steering wheel and turned the key in the ignition with his hand. "Mom, look! He's just like Captain Hook!"

Her embarrassment grew by leaps and bounds. "Henry," Emma scolded. "That's not…"

"Captain Hook, is it?" Killian smirked, cutting off her admonishment and giving her son surprisingly friendly eyes in the rearview mirror. "Why is it that the one-handed man must always play a villain?"

"Captain Hook's not a villain," Henry replied matter-of-factly. "He helped the Swan Princess rescue her son from Peter Pan."

Killian, understandably, looked incredibly confused. "Come again?"

"They climbed a giant's beanstalk and stole a compass together," Henry went on. "They have true love! But Snow White and Prince Charming didn't approve at first because he was a pirate."

Killian looked to Emma for clarification. "It's his storybook," she explained, gesturing at the book Henry still cradled to his chest. "It's his favorite. The back cover said it was supposed to be an alternative take on the traditional fairytale." Emma scoffed, fidgeting in her seat. "Kind of more emphasis on the true love thing than I was expecting, to be honest."

"An alternative take, indeed," Killian murmured, shifting out of park and maneuvering out of the parking space. There was quiet for all of thirty seconds as he navigated the packed airport parking lot.

"How'd you lose your hand?" Henry asked.

Killian looked startled. Again, Emma was mortified. "Henry!" she scolded again. "You can't just ask people personal questions like that right after you meet them. Apologize."

"Why? I was just asking…"

"It's quite all right," Killian intervened. Emma looked at him, gob-smacked. He smirked over his shoulder at Henry. "A crocodile ate it."

Henry was impressed. "Really?"

Emma narrowed her eyes, less than impressed by the obvious lie… although, admittedly impressed by how well he was handling her son. "I wasn't aware they had crocodiles in Arizona," she remarked.

"Well, now who said it happened in Arizona?" Killian replied cheekily.

"But they don't have crocodiles in England either," Henry pointed out.

"Ah, but now who said it happened in England?"

Again, Henry stared at Killian like he was fascinating. Her kid was smiling wider than he had when Emma had told him they were going on an adventure together for the summer. Guilt still nagged at Emma for the way her son had called undue attention to their driver's disability, but that feeling was slowly ebbing as she saw how much he was enjoying the undivided attention of her overly inquisitive kid.

Go figure.

They were on the highway by then, dodging heavy, high speed traffic. "It's a bit of stretch," Killian told them. "A couple hours west. Ranch is in the middle of nowhere, I warn you. No shops or restaurants or beauty parlors or anything like that."

"Are there horses?" Henry asked.

"Aye, and some other animals."

"Is there a pool?"

"Aye, lad, there's a pool."

"What about chupacabras?"

Emma tried really hard not to roll her eyes. Killian looked delighted at the question. "Well, I've never seen one," he admitted. "But sometimes, late at night, you can hear things crying out from the desert, looking for sheep. Do you think we might have an infestation?"

"I'll do some research and find out," Henry promised seriously.

Emma smiled. Killian was grinning as he switched lanes. "Mom," Henry said suddenly. "I have to go to the bathroom."

She couldn't help it; she groaned. "Henry, why didn't you say something while we were still at the airport?"

"I didn't have to go then!"

"Not to worry, Swan," Killian cut in. "I have to fill up the tank and run a quick errand anyway."

He headed for the exit lane. Once they turned off the ramp, Henry found other things to distract himself from his bladder. There were orange trees growing in people's front yards, unexpectedly green in the brown landscape and laden with bright orange fruit. There were cacti, ranging from short and spiky to tall, towering green things that looked like they came straight out of a Wil E. Coyote cartoon. Emma spotted some grassy yards, but most people it seemed had given up on such time-consuming efforts and let the lawns go to natural, red desert dust. Emma was entranced. She had never seen anything like it, as she had never been out West before, having grown up in New England, and her only travel being with Ingrid, who only ever flew to Europe.

Henry had never seen anything like it either, and his constant stream of " _Wow,_ " and _"Cool!"_ and _"Mom, look!"_ made it pretty clear what he thought about their new surroundings. Her kid was having the time of his life in the backseat of that ridiculous car, crowing about seeing a cactus.

Killian soon turned into a gas station and clambered out of the car to fill the tank. "Bathroom's that way," he told them, jerking his thumb at the small, white building. Emma led Henry off to use the facilities as Killian unhooked the fuel nozzle and inserted it into the Rolls Royce's gas tank.

As per usual, the task of getting Henry in and out of the bathroom was its customary nightmare of bickering and frayed nerves. Emma stood outside the men's room door like a sentry, glaring at the one man who dared approach the bathroom. One look at her, and the man made for the gas station convenience store instead.

Henry took his standard, unnecessary amount of time in the restroom. "It smells funny in here!" he called through the door, and Emma rolled her eyes.

"It's a public restroom, kid… they all smell weird." She heard the toilet flush, and then she pushed open the door a crack with the toe of her boot. "You better be washing your hands, Henry."

"I know! I am!"

By the time Henry was finished and Emma had finally wrangled her kid back to the Rolls Royce, Killian had moved the car from the fill-up station and parked in one of the spaces along the front of the convenience store. The doors were unlocked, which Emma considered a stupid move, and Killian himself was missing.

"Great," she whispered in annoyance. "Where the hell is he?"

Henry didn't seem fazed by their driver's disappearance. He clambered back into the car, and Emma joined him reluctantly. The engine was no longer running, but the car was still pleasantly cool from the air conditioning. Emma shifted in the passenger seat, folding her arms over her chest. Henry fidgeted endlessly behind her.

For the first five minutes, Henry was content to gawk at their surroundings again. He dug into his book bag and hauled out the camera Ingrid had given him for Christmas. Then he was off, snapping pictures of everything in sight, from the dumpy white gas station to the mostly flat, brown and red landscape, littered with odd shaped rocks and towering saguaros. Henry took quite a few photos of the saguaros, and several more of the horizon line, where smears of brown and red met clear, bright, cloudless blue. Then he turned his attention to the small, spiky brown lizard inching its way across the cracked cement parking lot.

"Mom, look! This is so cool!"

Those two sentences proved to be his mantra for quite some time, but the limited sight-seeing material around the old gas station didn't hold Henry's attention for long. Emma sensed his growing restlessness and tried to direct his attention to the buildings stretched on either side of the fill-up stop: all one-level, flat-roofed, stucco houses and shops in varying shades of tan, pink and white, with red roof tiles. One such building was only two lots away, though it sat back quite far from the road. There was a wrought iron gate blocking cars from heading up the long drive, hinged on a cream stucco fence that surrounded the yard. Henry took a photo but his attentions were lackluster. He'd found something new and fascinating to focus on.

"What do all the buttons do?" he asked, big green eyes focused on the dashboard.

Emma had wondered how long it would take before Henry's inquisitive nature took focus on the car's interior. As previously mentioned, they were traveling in a seriously nice car. The upholstery was all buttery, charcoal colored leather, and possibly more comfortable than Emma's bed back home. But the dashboard was the real prize. It was dark, rich wood – mahogany, or rosewood – and it was covered in buttons. It looked like something out of Star Trek. There were the usual buttons, of course, that controlled things like headlights and windshield wipers, as well as the radio and the heater and the air conditioning. Emma thought one dial might control the temperature of their seats, and took a moment to marvel. But the rest of the buttons were a mystery to her.

Henry pushed one. "Nothing's happening," he whined.

"The car's not running," Emma explained. "They won't work right now. And it's a bad idea to push buttons unless you know what they're going to do."

Henry pouted. Emma sighed inaudibly, turning back to her window. The gate two lots away was opening and Emma was beyond relieved to see Killian Jones stepping into the harsh sunlight, with a brown paper bag nestled in the crook of his left arm.

"Finally," she grumbled.

"He was only gone ten minutes," her son said, far too reasonably for her liking. Then he pressed his face to the small crack Killian had left in the back window and called, "Hi, Killian!"

Emma suppressed her groan. The man in question looked up at his name and grinned like an idiot. Emma turned to face the windshield and set her mouth in a grim line. This proved counterproductive, as Killian Jones sauntered directly across the front bumper, in full view. Emma, unfortunately, found herself watching him saunter once again. He was good at it; shoulders back, head up, taking long sure strides. Saunter was the wrong word, actually. He _swaggered_ , all confidence with a suggestion of danger, as though he's stepped straight out of some cheesy cowboy film.

Emma shook her head, as though she could rattle loose the nonsense from her brain the way one would knock down cobwebs. She could not wait to get to the Lucas Ranch, and away from the Lucas chauffeur.

Killian opened the driver's door and slid behind the wheel. "Sorry," he said, balancing his brown bag between his knees as he snagged the door with his hook and slammed it shut. "Just a quick errand. We can be on our way now."

Emma watched him suspiciously. Admittedly, she was often suspicious of the people around her, more so of attractive men with an excess of charm. In fact, some people might go so far as to suggest she purposely looked for reasons to be suspicious of such people. Still, Killian was acting rather suspiciously. That was true as well. He was careful not to accidentally show the contents of his bag, and tucked it deep between his seat and the car door. He made no comment about his errand, or his newly acquired baggage, and merely started up the car.

Henry, who Emma had rather counted on to inquire about Killian's errand or ask what was in his suspicious bag, instead seized this opportunity to dart forward and press a button on the dashboard.

"Henry!" she scolded, momentarily forgetting to be suspicious. "Seatbelt, kid!"

"Ooh, look, Mom!" Henry exclaimed, entirely ignoring her admonishment.

A small plate of crackers and cheese shot out of the dashboard like a C-D shooting out of a disk drive. Emma blinked, astonished. Henry snatched a cracker and a cube of cheese, and popped it into his mouth. Then he pressed another button. Something swiveled out of the dashboard, a quick robotic little turn, and Emma found a box of six fancy looking chocolates staring up at her, decorated with cream flowers.

"Cool," Henry breathed.

"Right," Killian murmured, his lips quirked up at the corner in amusement. Emma eyed him warily, half ready to scold Henry one more time and half ready to lunge across the gearshift and snatch the mysterious paper bag from its hiding spot. Killian blocked such a move, reaching into the middle of the dashboard and removing the cheese and crackers, as well as the chocolates. He handed them to Henry, who took them eagerly, and then slid each mechanical tray back into its designated slot. "You strap yourself in, lad, and enjoy the spread. There's plenty of buttons in the back to amuse yourself with, so you needn't be hanging over the console and worrying your mother. Deal?"

Emma's mouth fell open. "Deal!" Henry chirped, and Emma found his response not conducive to easing her shock. She heard the click of Henry's safety belt, and then the crunch of his crackers and cheese. With a small shake of her head, Emma forced her mouth shut and stared dead ahead out the windshield.

What the hell was going on, she wondered faintly, besides the obvious, which was that Killian Jones was unexpectedly good with her kid and that her kid was actually following the instructions of an adult?

The engine started up again and Killian swung the car out of the parking lot, turning onto the main road again. Henry pressed buttons in the back as they drove, quietly exclaiming over the things he found: "Napkins? That's lame. Oh look, Mom! There's a TV back here!" Emma let him have his fun, her eyes straying to the paper bag on the other side of the driver's seat. Killian Jones had flicked the radio on and was humming along to some desperately old country song, occasionally tossing a comment back to her son who was still finding time to ask Killian questions: "What kind of car is this? Where did Mrs. Lucas get it? Did she install all the buttons?"

"Slow down, lad," Killian chuckled. "This is a Rolls Royce. Mrs. Lucas bought it secondhand from an oil sheik. And I believe he was the one who installed all the buttons."

"What's an oil sheik?"

"A wealthy man who sells oil."

"Oh."

"This is a used car?" Emma asked, her attention momentarily distracted away from Killian's secret package. "You mean the rich and famous Beverly Lucas couldn't afford to buy her Rolls Royce brand new?"

Killian smirked. "Absolutely she could, Swan. But she wrangled this one for far less than it was worth and despite her billions, I find she's often naively pleased when she can acquire a bargain."

Emma frowned slightly. "You must know her pretty well."

He frowned back, though his eyes remained fixed to the road. "Aye."

"Does Mrs. Lucas live on a dude ranch?" Henry asked suddenly, demanding back his new friend's attention. Emma almost laughed. "What _is_ a dude ranch, anyway?"

Killian answered Henry's questions easily, as well as the next question, and the next. Emma felt her mind remove itself from their conversation, her focus returning to the bag. It looked like a standard grocery store package. There could have been any number of mundane things in it. It could have been Killian's lunch. Her eyes roved over the bag, seeking any sort of hint as to what might be hiding in its flimsy, crinkled depths. Fortunately for her, the bag _was_ flimsy, and Emma soon spotted a tear in the paper, near the top, along a side seam.

At first, she had attributed her fixation on the bag to mean-spirited paranoia; Killian Jones wanted to keep his mystery bag a secret and she thought Killian Jones was a very annoying man. It seemed a fitting punishment to figure out what was in it. But once Emma found the rip, she decided her curiosity was her instincts warning her something was off… and was she ever glad she'd listened to them. Because poking out the rip, barely noticeable to someone who wasn't looking, was the cold, round, narrow steel barrel of a gun.

Emma froze. Her eyes traveled slowly from the tell-tale rip and the tip of the gun barrel to Killian's face. He didn't look like the sort of man who carried concealed weapons in brown paper bags and concocted wild, criminal plots… but then, she knew from experience that those sorts of men rarely did.

A gun, in the same car as her kid, the same car that was taking her far, far away from civilization to a ranch in the middle of nowhere... Emma breathed deep through her nose and gripped the edge of her seat tightly in one hand. She'd known this internship would not be like other internships; Regina's warnings about Mrs. Lucas and her eccentricities had been proof enough of that. But knowing that her employer put stock (and money) in crazy theories about aliens and Atlantis was a far cry from riding in a strange car with a strange man who was hauling around a gun.

 _What the hell had she gotten herself into_?

Her eyes stole towards the gun again, and them Emma tried to take another subtle look at his face. She'd prefer he didn't notice her scrutiny. He was still grinning, eyes on the road, while he good-naturedly answered her son's steady stream of questions. Emma tried to gauge whether or not the man seated beside her was a threat; tried to read past the smiling exterior to whatever shady bullshit lurked beneath.

The fact that she couldn't quite read him scared her more than the gun next to the driver's seat.


	2. Chapter 2

Summer of the Dragon

Modern AU based on the Elizabeth Peters novel. Anthropology student and single mom Emma Swan would be a fool to pass on a paid internship spent on the wealthy, eccentric Beverly Lucas' Arizona estate. Once she arrives however, Emma finds something is very wrong on the ranch, and the only person she can trust is also a man she can't stand: arrogant archaeologist Killian Jones.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I sadly have no rights to _Once Upon a Time_ or anything written by Elizabeth Peters. There will be no profit made off this fan fiction. I write this for my own amusement, as well as my obsession with all things Captain Swan.

AN: Big thanks to LittleRed22, Spelllesswonder29 (nice to see your name pop up again!) and andria for the great reviews!

* * *

Chapter 2:

Emma stared out the passenger side window, watching the desert fly past. What had first been beautiful and exciting was beginning to look monotonous. But Emma's thoughts were far from dull, focused on her prospective job, on her strange companion, and the gun next to his seat. They'd driven far from town now, but Emma's thoughts had not quieted once despite how much time had passed. Henry, on the other hand, had long since worn himself out asking Killian questions, fiddling with buttons, and explaining the plot of his storybook several times over. He was fast asleep in the back of the car, and Emma and Killian were silent as the grave.

Her eyes kept shifting to the mystery package between Killian and the door. She could see the barrel of the gun over his thigh, still poking ever so slightly through the brown paper bag. Emma was considering confronting him about his mysterious so-called errand and the gun he was obviously trying to hide, but she wasn't quite sure she wanted to go stirring the pot just yet. Hell, she'd be doing enough of that when she got to the ranch and refused to grant credence to any of the far out theories Mrs. Lucas supported.

Now that Henry was asleep, Killian no longer grinned or laughed or even spoke. Emma was sure she was part of the problem; conversation was a two-way street, and she certainly wasn't very outgoing. Still, she used the shift in demeanor against him, adding it to the growing stockpile of useless crap she was trying to call evidence. Even her uneasy mind knew she was grasping at straws; plenty of people liked kids but were awkward around adults, and just because Killian was good with Henry didn't mean he had to keep up the smiles and the easy flow of answers to relentless questions now that she was the only other conscious passenger in the car. But she didn't doubt for a second that at least some of his easy-going disposition around Henry was made-up; Killian Jones was hiding something, and the gun could only be part of it.

"It's rude to stare, love," Killian broke the silence, his voice low and lilting and suggestive… but Emma heard a hard note that instantly set her on edge.

"Emma," she corrected reflexively.

"My apologies, _Swan_ ," he returned, smirk fixed in place and voice striving for casually flirtatious, as was his preferred setting, it seemed. He couldn't quite achieve it. The smirk was fake and the casual tone of voice was affected. His jaw was tight with irritation. "Although, I must remind you my eyes are up here."

He gestured to his face, smirking wider and then refocusing on the road. "I'm not staring at you," Emma returned coldly.

"No need to lie," he said darkly. "You're hardly the first person who couldn't quite look away."

Emma blinked at that, finally realizing he thought she was staring at his prosthetic. She'd never considered if he caught her staring that his mind would immediately leap to that conclusion; he'd put up such a good front with Henry and her son's inconsiderate questions. Faint embarrassment flooded through her, quickly replaced by indignation. "I'm not staring at you," she reiterated, her voice as flinty as she could make it. "I'm staring at that gun you're doing a real crap job at hiding."

He looked startled by that, though his surprise quickly gave way to discomfort. "Observant lass, aren't you?"

"Your bag's ripped," she replied. "I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable, but guns around my kid make _me_ uncomfortable, so…"

She trailed off, lifting her eyebrows mockingly. Jones squeezed the gearshift, his tongue in his cheek. "I wouldn't let the blasted thing anywhere near your lad," he said sincerely, and Emma was thrown... until he went on to make his excuses. "I apologize for worrying you. I just picked it up for the vermin."

 _Lie_.

Emma had always been able to spot a lie… except that one time, back in second semester of freshman year in undergrad. She'd never been fooled again, and now was no exception. Jones meant it when he promised to keep the weapon out of reach of her kid, but he sure as hell was lying about the vermin.

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret," she told him. "I'm pretty good at telling when someone is lying to me."

His shoulders tensed.

"So what's the real story, cowboy?" she asked sarcastically. "Someone after you? You owe somebody money, maybe? Or are you some kind of criminal?"

His eyes were murderous, but fixed mostly on the road. Only occasionally did those ill-willed eyes flicker in her direction, and even though Emma knew he had a gun, she wasn't remotely afraid of him. She wasn't sure if she was brave or stupid. Maybe both.

"Quite the imagination, Swan," he replied with forced lightness. "I assure you, the gun isn't meant to protect myself from the consequences of past shady dealings in the criminal underworld. I've a degree in archeology, actually, which makes me your colleague rather than a criminal… unless you hold with the theory that archaeologists are really just well-educated grave robbers."

 _Truth._

"Then what's it for?"

Killian's tongue darted out between his lips, running slowly along the bottom one. Emma stared longer than she should have; it wasn't meant to be a sexy gesture. It was clearly a gesture of annoyance and an attempt to stall answering her question. The way he released the gearshift to scratch at his ear only made that clearer. "I'm not quite certain I should tell you," he replied.

Another truth. Emma had already caught him in one lie and she was on high alert for another. But Killian Jones seemed to have taken her declaration to heart and was no longer attempting to lie to her – at least, not outright. Emma wasn't impressed, and she wasn't mollified. She had no intention of letting her guard down.

(She never did.)

"That sounds ominous," she observed. "You trying to scare me off? Feeling threatened, maybe? You said we're colleagues; guess my presence might sting a bit. Good luck. I don't scare easy."

"No, I don't suppose you do," he returned. "I hate to disappoint a beautiful woman, Swan, but sadly you don't threaten me at all. Don't misunderstand me; you are of course a very threatening lady. In every other regard I find you all manner of intimidating. But I don't need to frighten you. My position at the Lucas estate is quite secure, thank you very much, and your presence, whether you're in a similar field to mine or not, is hardly going to be the end-all of my career there."

She stared at him, narrowing her eyes. "Tell me why you have the gun, and I won't be forced to mention your little side errand to Mrs. Lucas."

"Oh, so it's to be like that, is it? Well played, Swan, I am impressed. You cut quite the striking figure there, all fierce and commanding with your threats to _tattle_."

"It's not all bark either," Emma returned sarcastically. "You know, maybe the gun _is_ just part of your master plan to drive me off and save your job. I'm just some ignorant woman from the East, right? Show me a gun and spew a lot of creepy sounding nonsense, and I'll just run myself home. Think again, Jones."

She knew that wasn't it; if he'd only wanted to chase her off, there'd be no need to spin lies about vermin. But Jones was keeping his lips sealed tight about his mysterious gun, and maybe baiting him would get her some answers. If the ranch was a dangerous place, Emma needed to know. She couldn't risk Henry running around the estate and straight into something terrible.

"Have it all sussed out, do you?" he asked, and Emma smirked. His knuckles were white on the gearshift and she could see veins straining under his forearms. He glared at the windshield as though it had done him personal insult and Emma was mildly ashamed to admit that if he'd turned that glare on her, she might have been momentarily afraid.

Only momentarily, mind you.

Jones had taken the bait. Emma watched him expectantly as he noticeably tensed his jaw, working it in small circles, still gripping the hell out of the gearshift. "For the record," he announced. "I truly had no intention of frightening you, though I suppose not to warn you would be very bad form."

"Bad form?" she repeated incredulously, scoffing. "Warn me about what?"

"It's nothing," he murmured, not meeting her eye. _Lie_. "Well, I suppose it's not _nothing_ , but I haven't any proof that something's wrong." _Truth_. "It's a general feeling of uneasiness… too many accidents and missteps that alone seem meaningless but together… I don't know. I could be wrong. I hope I'm wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

"Ah, but you are relentless. Well, I suppose it's pointless to beat about the bush then. I know why you've been called out here… well, I don't know the details, exactly, but I know Granny found something in the desert and she wants a second opinion."

"Granny?"

"Aye, Granny. It's what she prefers to be called. She'll have you dropping that Mrs. Lucas nonsense as soon as you walk through the front door. Anyway, Granny's playing whatever she found out there very close to the vest... although, that doesn't mean anything. She's found things out there before that have been real finds, and she's also made so-called big discoveries that turned out to be nothing at all. I suppose she wants someone in good standing with other scholars to call whatever she's found out there legitimate before she starts telling people what it is."

Emma snorted. "Good standing with other scholars. Right. Isn't this an internship?"

The idea that her opinion might be so important was a little daunting… and even now, Emma could hear her advisor's remarks about probation and black spots on her reputation. If Killian noticed her discomfort, he had the grace not to call attention to it. Instead, he kept speaking as though Emma had never said anything at all.

"I don't know what she found. I don't know that she found anything at all. And I haven't a clue as to why someone else would care. The ranch _is_ inhabited by a regular circle of crackpots and hangers-on, all living off of Granny while they perpetuate some sort of malarkey or another… but to be frank, I don't see many of them being too interested in traipsing about the desert. All I know is that ever since she found it, strange things have been happening on the ranch… and I want to be prepared."

"So this is a precaution," Emma said flatly. "Just in case something vague and possibly dangerous is really going on out there. The gun is meant to be protection. And you're going to tote it around the ranch and play at being Indiana Jones or whatever. You don't plan on telling me anything of real value, do you?"

His lip curled into a sneer. It was surprisingly ugly on his admittedly handsome face. Emma watched him squeeze the gearshift again. "Even if I did, you probably wouldn't believe me. You'd see straight through my attempt to intimidate you. And if I suggested that you and your lad head back home, you'd see straight through that too, I'm sure. I'm a bad, insecure man worried about my position and I clearly have it out for you."

Emma smirked. "Well, when you put it like that."

"You're a smart lass; if there's anything to figure out, I'm sure you'll be the one figuring it."

"I don't like games," she told him. "I don't like threats. I don't like guns around my kid, but I already told you that. And yeah, you're not about to scare me into going home, if that is your master plan. Since you obviously don't want to tell me what's really going on, we don't have anything further to say to each other."

"Perfect. I'm content to drive in silence."

Drive in silence they did. Emma's thoughts were jumbled; her conversation with Jones had cleared nothing up and only served to put her further on her guard where he was concerned. Was there something strange happening at the Lucas ranch? She couldn't shake the feeling that whether or not it was true, Jones believed something was. Of course, maybe he was only paranoid. It would be easy to dismiss his rambling; he had told her nothing. Emma still had no idea what was going on out there, or why it required Jones to have a gun. She was ready to stick to her original theory and assume Jones was sour about her arrival and looking to scare her off in order to protect his job.

If only she'd been able to detect another lie.

Their silence only lasted until Henry woke up, however. As soon as her little boy sat up, blinking blearily, ceaseless chatter was instantly back on the table.

"Where are we?" he asked. "Are we there yet? How much longer?"

Emma glanced at Killian for the answers. He was smiling again, and try as she might Emma could find nothing false about it. "We're still on the road," he replied. "No. And about twenty more minutes."

"Cool. Is there anything else to eat?"

Killian laughed. "There'll be plenty to eat at the ranch, lad. Best to save your appetite."

Emma frowned at him out of the corner of her eye, still trying to understand his radical mood swings. She knew Henry was a loveable kid; she might sound biased, but everyone loved Henry, even her prickly academic advisor, and that was just fact. Still, Killian's repeat changes from broody and annoyed to smiling and laughing were giving her whiplash.

Henry asked a few more questions. Killian provided a few more answers. Soon, the car was pulling up to a high metal gate, the kind she'd imagine someone might build around a power plant or a warehouse. A tall wire fence stretched on either side for miles, and the gate itself was more wire fencing with thick metal bars to reinforce it. A short, yawning man with a shiny bald head opened the gate and waved the car through.

"Who's that?" Henry immediately asked, even as he waved back.

"That's Walter, the gateman," Killian replied. "More affectionately known as Sleepy."

Emma tried not to smile. Henry giggled. Killian crawled along the dusty driveway, winding around huge rocks and more cacti. There were shorter wooden fences cropping up every once in a while, but Emma couldn't see anything behind them except for more dirt, dust and rocks. Far up ahead, Emma could see a dark shadowy blotch. She assumed that was the main house.

She was tempted to make a dig about Killian's driving; he was inching the car along at the fast and furious pace of an old lady. But then the car rounded a bend in the road and came to a dead stop because of the large deer standing in the middle of the path.

Henry made an awed, surprisingly hushed little noise in the backseat. Emma blinked. The deer stared at them for a moment, and then it turned and ran, white tail flicking around behind it.

That was the only interruption. As the car continued its winding drive, the main house came into better focus. The closer they got the more lush the landscaping turned. Ranches required some sort of water; Emma knew that. Still, she was surprised by the sheer number of trees and springy grasses growing around the house. There were desert flowers blooming in perfectly sculpted gardens, with trickling birdbath fountains and Spanish tiled patios. The house itself was equally impressive, two stories tall with a flat red roof and sprawling out in all directions. There was a covered patio all around the house that supported private balconies for the second story. It was white stucco with white pillars and huge pane-free windows. French doors opened onto the patio seemingly every few feet.

"Wow," Emma said despite herself.

"It looks like a castle," Henry agreed in the backseat. "How can there be so many plants in the desert?"

"Underground springs and streams," Killian answered. "There's been many a real estate developer in these parts made offers at half a million or more. Granny always refuses them."

Killian had pulled up to the main doors at that point. The driveway circled around a collection of red rocks, clay pots spilling over with vines, and tall cacti. The doors were tall and reddish brown, with wrought iron grating over their windows. Henry leapt out of the car the moment it stopped, and Emma had to scramble after him to stop him running off.

"The houseman will see to your luggage," Killian announced, climbing out of the car at a leisurely, devil-may-care pace. Emma narrowed her eyes at him.

"Right," she dead-panned. "The houseman. Of course."

He smirked at her, cheeky as hell. "Well don't stand on ceremony, Swan. Door's right there; do go in."

"I suppose one of the housemen is going to drive the car back to the garage, too."

"Naturally."

"Well, why don't you come with us?" Emma asked, her smile saccharine. "Or do they make you use the back door?"

Killian's smirk was feral. It was the smirk of a man who'd just been issued a challenge and had every intention of rising to it. His eyebrow rose suggestively. "Oh, I always have access to the front entrance, love. But should your preference be the rear, who am I to say no to a lady?"

Emma bristled. She opened her mouth, fully prepared to tell him to go to hell. But before she could say anything at all, Henry butted into the conversation.

"You guys are being weird," he announced. Then he dropped his backpack on the ground and practically threw his storybook into Emma's stomach. "Look, Mom! A llama!"

Then he was off and running. Several feet from the drive, on the other side of the pretentious gardens, where the land had run back to dust and rock, there was a large paddock and inside of it was definitely some sort of tall, shaggy, red-furred llama like creature.

"Henry!" Emma called after him.

"It's actually an alpaca," Killian offered unhelpfully, resting his elbows on the roof of the car. Emma glared at him and made to run after her son. "Oh, leave him be, Swan. See that man there, by the fence? That's Marco, one of Granny's most trusted employees. I promise he won't let your lad into any sort of trouble."

"I don't make a habit of foisting Henry off onto other people," Emma retorted. "It's _my_ job to keep him out of trouble, not Marco's."

She stomped off in the direction her son had taken. All too soon, she heard Killian's footsteps behind her. Emma rolled her eyes, pointedly ignoring him as she approached her son. Henry was already at the fence, staring up at the alpaca in awe. Marco was standing next to her kid, and a tall, slender young brunette woman had joined them too. She wore a pair of red shorts that barely covered her rear, a black button down shirt, and a pair of black cowboy boots. Her dark brown hair was pin-straight and pulled up in a high ponytail. There were bright red streaks throughout her beautiful, glossy brunette mane.

"You must be Emma Swan," the gorgeous young woman announced as soon as Emma reached the trio. She held out her hand to shake. "Hi! I'm Ruby Lucas."

Emma shook her hand automatically. "Right, I'm Emma," she agreed. "Sorry about my son; he's mad about animals."

"Yeah? So is Granny," Ruby replied. "I'm Beverly Lucas's granddaughter, by the way. I mostly run the ranch while she oversees our main business and investments. Excited to start work?"

Emma nodded. "Absolutely."

She glanced over at Henry, only to find Killian was lifting him up onto the alpaca fence. She almost shouted at the both of them, but the protest died in her throat. Marco, the older man, had the alpaca by its harness and Killian stayed just behind Henry's back, keeping him balanced on the fence. Henry was laughing as he pet the alpaca's nose. The animal, for its part, gently nudged his hand and kept any teeth it might have to itself.

"That's Marco, our head mechanic," Ruby announced, following Emma's line of vision. "The alpaca, believe it or not, is actually his. I'm not sure how, but it's the nicest animal _ever_. Henry's in good hands."

"I see he already introduced himself," Emma said wryly.

"Uh-huh. You're kid is adorable, by the way. Not to mention crazy polite. He shook my hand!"

Ruby was practically gushing. Emma couldn't help the proud smile that worked its way onto her face. "Yeah, thanks. He's a keeper. So, uh… I guess I should probably head in and meet your grandmother, huh?"

"Oh, don't worry. You're about to meet her right here outside the alpaca pen."

Ruby gestured behind her and Emma whirled around. Fast approaching them from the direction of the main house was an older woman, moving at an unexpected speed. She walked briskly and with purpose. Emma shrank back a little at her unsmiling face, unsure what to expect.

"Killian Jones, you put that boy back down on solid ground and quit harassing that alpaca!" she shouted.

Killian instantly put Henry on the ground and spun to face his employer. Emma was relieved that Henry, despite his pouting, had better sense than to voice his complaint. Killian on the other hand only looked rueful; his expression did not match his cheeky response.

"As Her Majesty commands!" he quipped.

Emma rolled her eyes. So did her hostess, who was still steamrolling her way across the dusty road.

Beverly Lucas was not at all what Emma had been expecting. The older woman was short, squat, and gray, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun and a pair of grandmotherly spectacles perched on her nose. There was a glasses chain to keep the eyewear around her neck when she didn't need them. While Emma had expected pressed business suits or overly expensive casual wear, all perfectly tailored and bearing designer labels, Mrs. Lucas' clothes were actually quite frumpy. She had on a shapeless khaki skirt and a button-down, pink plaid blouse, with a huge, ugly purple sweater over the whole thing. Her only concessions to wealth, as far as Emma could see, were glittering turquoise pieces threaded onto her glasses chain, a large turquoise brooch fastened at her collar, and a pair of fabulous brown and blue cowboy boots that probably cost about nine hundred dollars.

"Miss Swan?" she asked sharply, coming to a stop directly in front of Emma. She looked all business and wore no smile. Emma straightened her spine and grasped the older woman's offered hand. The resulting handshake was steady, firm, and a little bit painful. "Beverly Lucas, but most call me Granny. You should too."

"Nice to meet you," Emma replied. "Just call me Emma."

"Emma it is. Ruby, what on earth are you doing out here in the open wearing that god awful getup?"

Ruby flushed, but tossed her hair defiantly. "Working. I can do that, you know, in just about any getup I own."

Granny rolled her eyes. Killian was smirking; Emma could see him out of the corner of her eye. He had his hand over his mouth, but his amusement was impossible to hide.

"I think you look pretty, Ruby," Henry said considerately.

Emma cringed. Ruby grinned triumphantly. "Why, thank you. You're a very smart kid, you know that?"

Granny harrumphed and looked over her spectacles at Emma's son. Henry blinked up at her, beaming politely. "And who's this?" she asked, crouching over so she was closer to Henry's eye level. All at once her stern demeanor was gone, replaced by an indulgent smile.

"I'm Henry," Henry replied easily, not even remotely intimidated by the admittedly very intimidating Granny Lucas.

Granny held out her hand and Henry enthusiastically shook it. "You can call me Granny, Henry," she said. "Welcome to Arizona."

"Thanks!"

"I saw you making friends with Jiminy over there," Granny went on, nodding at the alpaca. Emma bit her tongue… the alpaca was named after Jiminy Cricket? Really? "How about you go with my granddaughter here and meet Pongo?"

"Who's Pongo?"

"My dog."

Henry lit up instantly. "I love dogs! But Mom says our landlord won't let us get a puppy."

Granny nodded understandingly. "Well, landlords can be like that. Go on, then!"

Henry took Ruby's offered hand without hesitation and bounded away, waving enthusiastically. "Bye Mom! Bye Marco! Bye Killian! Bye Granny!"

"I'll see you later, lad."

"Be good for Ruby!" Emma called after him.

Granny turned on them both with sharp eyes. "Emma, why don't you step into my office and we'll discuss the particulars of your new position. Killian, get lost."

Killian smirked, mockingly saluting his employer. "Aye, aye, Captain." He winked in a manner that could only be described as roguish.

Granny's stern expression relaxed into a smile as indulgent as the one she'd given Henry. "I mean it. Go do what I pay you for."

Killian sauntered away, leaving Emma alone with Granny. "As the lady wishes," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Idiot," Granny said fondly. "Well, Emma, follow me."

Emma followed behind the older woman, who if possible swaggered even more than Jones. There was a slight limp, probably an arthritic knee or hip or something along those lines, but mostly Granny strutted like she had a gun on her belt and knew how to use it. Emma found her to be just a little bit terrifying, and liked her immediately.

They stepped through the front doors into a grand front hallway, two stories high with ceiling fans whirring lazily above their heads. Dark wood beams traveled wall to wall, located merely three feet or less from the tall, vaulted ceiling. The walls were off-white and covered in Southwest-inspired art: brightly colored weavings, red stone carvings, ugly Native American masks. Spanish tile in shades of red, tan and black sprawled beneath their feet. Cacti stood in every corner.

Emma couldn't help but gawk as she followed behind Granny. The older woman led her down a narrower hallway, tiled the same way, and stopped somewhere near the back of the house in front of a thick oak door. It was a long, impressive trek, considering they were still indoors.

Granny led her into the office, which was set up in a much larger room than necessary. There was a wall of windows across from the door that looked out over the gardens near the house. Emma could see her son and Ruby by a small artificial pond, wrestling in the grass with a large Dalmatian. Inside, the flooring was dark wood, matching the beams locked in place against the ceiling. A ceiling fan lazily spun the air in the room. A woven rug in unexpectedly bright colors was tucked up under the large wooden desk. Black leather chairs were situated all around the desk, and Granny gestured at Emma to sit in one of them.

Granny took a seat on the other side of the desk, and Emma raised her eyebrow when she saw the large crossbow hanging on the wall over her head.

"I don't like guns," Granny grunted at her, which Emma was surprised to hear. "I also don't like trespassers, criminals, real estate developers, or overbearing pains in the ass who try to tell me what to do. Crossbow scares them off."

Emma smiled a little at that. "Good to know. Might want to invest."

Granny cracked a smile back. It made her face look uncomfortable. "Let's get down to business. I'll start with your credentials. Your record for the past few years is flawless; near the top of your class. You are beyond a doubt qualified for this. I saw your marks weren't always so perfect, but I'm not worried about that. I was a single mom too and my daughter after me; God rest her soul. I know what screaming kids do to a person's focus."

Emma was surprised, both at her new employer's matter-of-fact assessment and her willingness to overlook her past transgressions. She braced herself, however, for whatever Granny Lucas would have to say about the theft charges.

"I did see some unpleasantness with the law right around the time you'd have found out about little Henry," she went on gruffly. "An arrest and some charges that were eventually dropped."

Emma shifted in her seat, trying not to turn red. She steeled her spine and looked Granny in the eye. "I don't like to talk about that, for obvious reasons," she said. "Of course, if you have questions, I'll answer them."

"No need," Granny grunted, waving her off. "Just want to set your mind at ease. I know all about making a mistake and trusting the wrong person. Saw what it did to my daughter; I'll spare you the details. My granddaughter had a similar problem, not that I want to disclose the details of _that_ , either. My point, Emma, is that you won't be judged on that mistake here. So long as that mistake is not repeated, do I make myself clear?"

Emma set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "Trust me. I won't ever make a mistake like that again."

"That's what I like to hear. Few ground rules: one, no guns. I think we went over that already. Two, no drugs. Seen what they do to good people, and I won't have them in my house."

Emma waited for more rules, but Granny's list was finished. "I'm flying out the day after tomorrow to check on an investment. Be back the day after that. Also, I'm still waiting on some important equipment you and I will need in the field. What I'm saying, Emma, is that your services are not required immediately. Enjoy yourself. Have fun. Make friends."

Emma blinked, mouth twisting incredulously. She leaned forward in her seat, intending to protest. "Mrs. Lucas, I'm not looking for a free vacation here. I came to work."

"Call me Granny," Granny replied, rolling her eyes. "And I know you did; that's why I chose you. You seemed like the kind willing to work. But I don't need you to start work just yet, so cool your heels. Take a swim in the pool or something. Now, just head out through that door there and Ruby will show you around and get you set up in your room."

"But…"

"I'm a busy woman, Emma. I'd rather not have a pointless argument. Now get out of here."

Granny shuffled a stack of papers and pointedly jerked her thumb at the exterior door. Emma was slightly taken aback, but she knew how to take a hint. Not that Granny was the sort of person to drop something as subtle as a hint, of course. Instead, she'd dropped an anvil. Emma shrugged and got to her feet, heading for the door as directed.

"I look forward to working with you, Emma," Granny called after her.

Emma nodded back. "I'm glad for the opportunity, Granny."

She earned herself a smile. Emma smiled back and stepped outside into the courtyard.

Henry was enraptured with the giant Dalmatian, and Emma had put a closed door and half the courtyard between herself and Granny by the time her kid even noticed she was there. When he saw her, he grinned even wider and waved enthusiastically. "Mom!" he called. "Mom, look! He's just like the dog in the cartoon!"

"Yeah, I see!" Emma called back, quickening her step. She jogged over to Henry and Ruby, who was kneeling in the grass beside Henry and petting Pongo just as animatedly. The dog whined at Emma when she reached them, thumping its tail on the ground. She knelt down with Henry and Ruby and scratched the enormous dog behind the ears. "Hey there, buddy."

"Have a good talk with Granny?" Ruby asked wryly, lifting a dark and perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Emma smirked back at her.

"Yeah, actually. We're all settled. She told me you'd show Henry and me where we're staying?"

"Sure. Follow me and Pongo."

Ruby headed for another set of French doors and Pongo instantly leapt to his feet and darted after her. Emma roped an arm around Henry's shoulders and steered her kid in the same direction. Henry's head swiveled all around them as they headed inside the house, oohing and ahhing as they headed down a narrow hall, passing ugly tribal masks and bright woven tapestries and the occasional animal skull hanging on the sage colored walls.

Ruby and Pongo led them up a set of spiral stairs, made of pale, carved wood. They headed down another ornately decorated hall, complete with woven rugs, Emma trying to memorize landmarks as they went. The house had so many wings and corridors it might as well have been a maze. It was a wonder anyone could live here and not get lost on a regular basis.

Ruby did not seem lost, however. She was surefooted and confident, taking long purposeful strides down the hall. She finally opened a thick wooden door on their right and led Emma and Henry into a small suite of rooms. Sure enough, Emma recognized their luggage sitting on a large rug in the middle of the suite.

"These are yours," Ruby announced with a grin. "There's a bathroom through there, and Henry, your bedroom is through the door on the right side of the sitting room."

"I get my own room?" Henry crowed excitedly, punching his fist into the air. "Best vacation ever!"

He tore across the sitting room and threw open the bedroom door, slamming it into the wall and shaking the room with a resounding _bang!_ Emma winced, sending Ruby an apologetic look. "Henry!" she scolded.

"Sorry!" Henry tossed back carelessly, racing into the other room, Granny's Dalmatian hot on his heels. Emma rolled her eyes as Henry leapt onto the large, luxurious bed. Soon, he was jumping up and down like it was a trampoline, Pongo wagging his tail and yipping excitedly from his place on the woven, colorfully printed rug.

"Henry, no jumping!" Emma called.

"Aw, let him jump," Ruby grinned. It was a good thing she was so laid back, Emma decided, because Henry was definitely still jumping on the bed. "Granny only buys the best; all these beds have a good bounce in their springs. I should know."

Her lascivious wink threw Emma for a mere second. She blinked at Ruby rather stupidly, as though she didn't understand the innuendo. Then she laughed, only half in actual amusement. Mostly it was a laugh of relief. Ruby was still grinning, apparently enjoying Emma's fluster.

Emma had no problem with a sex joke or two; it was hardly the first innuendo she'd heard in her life (or that day, she thought with a trace of annoyance, a smirking Killian Jones coming to mind). It was only that Emma felt at loose ends in this strange place, filled to the brim with luxury that she'd never had and probably never would. Seeing Ruby so chill about it all… again, half of Emma was relieved. The other half of her was jealous.

"So, dinner starts in a little over an hour," Ruby went on. "Drinks first, of course, and yes you'll be expected to do the rounds at cocktail hour. Granny's got people to introduce you to, after all. _Lots_ of people. People you probably don't want to meet."

"You're really selling this cocktail hour thing," Emma returned dryly.

Ruby grinned again. "I try. Don't worry; I'll come get you when it's time. I want to introduce you and Henry to the in-house nanny. She runs the daycare facilities for the staff, and she'll watch Henry while you're meeting the loonies."

"The loonies?" Emma repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Ruby retorted. "Or that you don't agree. Granny's habit of picking up loose cannons and supporting them while they write about their wild theories is well-known, particularly at the scholarly level. And at the risk of being tossed out on my ear, I willingly admit that I don't buy a single one of those 'theories.'"

"Does your grandmother know that?" Emma asked skeptically.

"Yep," Ruby replied, popping her p. "We argue about it all the time. Now, you and Henry get a little rest, and I'll come back when it's dinner time."

"Wait," Emma stopped her as she made for the door. "We don't… should I dress for dinner, or something? Because…"

Ruby rather dramatically rolled her eyes. "Trust me, with that lot? You could come down stark naked and no one would blink an eye. Later, guys! Pongo, come here!"

The Dalmatian instantly heeded the summons, bounding after Ruby as she sashayed out the door. Henry called his goodbyes after them, and with a tired sigh, Emma shut the door as the boisterous pair jogged down the hallway.

"This place is so cool," Henry announced, finally ceasing his bed-jumping. He collapsed backward on the mattress with a theatric flop. "Can we move here?"

"I don't think so, kid," Emma replied, dragging her suitcase onto her own bed. "We've got a life and an apartment and a family back in Boston, remember?"

Henry shrugged. "Grandma and Johanna and Dr. Mills can come with us!"

Something inside Emma's chest twisted unpleasantly at that suggestion. "It's a nice thought, Henry," she said softly, smiling at him. "But this is just a vacation. Trust me, if we lived here, all the cool would wear off really fast."

"You think so?"

"Know so. Now get your suitcase unpacked, and try to look nice for dinner, ok?"

"Ok."

Henry stated unpacking – much slower than she had envisioned, and with much tossing about of the contents of his suitcase. Emma focused on her own bags, letting him do what he wanted for a bit. His request to move here didn't bother her too much… he'd said the same thing last Christmas when they'd visited Ingrid at an excavation site in Europe. What bothered her was her son's definition of family. Somehow she'd neglected to see how small their family really was… so small, in fact, that Henry had decided the babysitter and her freaking academic advisor should be part of the unit. For so long, it had simply been the two of them and Ingrid. To a little boy in public school, watching other families that had a mother and a father, with sisters and brothers and more than one grandparent (a globetrotting grandmother who wasn't truly old enough to be called Grandma no less) their family must have seemed like a fraction of the real thing. No wonder he'd adopted the only other two constants in his life.

She barely remembered which drawers she'd tossed her belongings into, she was so distracted. Maybe Henry was just a big-hearted kid who loved Johanna and Regina like family and she should encourage that way of thinking? Or maybe she needed to have a serious heart to heart with him about families and why their tiny unit was just fine the way it was? Time flew by as Emma overanalyzed the situation, and suddenly she realized they were going to be late for dinner.

Emma called a halt to unpacking and immediately wrestled Henry into the bathroom , ordering him to clean himself up… he was covered in dust and dog hair and smelled a little like an alpaca. After rinsing off a little herself, she proceeded to force on Henry a decent pair of khakis and one of the few stain-free button-downs the kid owned. Henry taken care of, Emma dug out something reasonably classy from her own suitcase… black skirt and short-sleeved, silky red blouse. It was too hot for hose, so she slipped on open-toe black pumps. She'd barely managed to tame her mussed and frizzing hair back into soft, manageable waves, when someone knocked on the door.

"It's Ruby! Open up or you're going to miss feeding time for the animals!"

Emma rolled her eyes. Henry giggled and opened the door. Ruby was lounging in the frame, looking, for lack of a better term, sultry. Her red-streaked hair was in tight, bouncy curls and her velvety merlot colored dress was so tight she looked like she'd been poured into it. Her eye make-up was dark and thick, curved up into wingtips, and she'd painted her lips a startlingly deep, dark shade of crimson.

"Wow," Emma said in spite of herself. "I thought it didn't matter what we wore to dinner."

"Trust me, it doesn't," Ruby replied. "But I like to be the center of attention… which is ridiculously difficult in our dining room. Besides, you're looking pretty fine yourself." She wiggled an eyebrow suggestively, and Emma couldn't bite back her smirk.

"What do you think, kid?" she asked Henry.

"You look great, Mom," Henry replied, grinning. "So does Ruby."

Ruby grinned back. "All right, let's head downstairs, guys. First stop is Miss Blanchard's wing. She'll be hanging out with you while your mom's working, Henry."

He made a face. "Like a baby-sitter?"

"A cool baby-sitter," Ruby assured him. "Plus, there are a few other kids your age, so you'll really just be hanging out and making friends."

Henry still wore the face, Emma noted, but he shrugged and said, "Ok."

Ruby led the way towards the staircase, and Emma only paused long enough to lock their room behind them with the key that she'd found on a hook by the door. "When Granny needs your mom for stuff, you'll be with Miss Blanchard," Ruby was telling Henry, walking side-by-side with him and resting her arm across his shoulders. "And while all the rest of us are trapped in the lounge before dinner, having cocktails and talking about work, you and the other kids get to sit with Miss Blanchard and play video games."

Henry lit up a little at that. "There's video games?"

"Yep! Granny's got all the latest releases and some neat old classics. Sometimes I sneak down there afterhours and play a round or two."

"You could play with me," Henry told her seriously, and Emma smiled from where she walked silently behind them. "You don't have to sneak."

Ruby squeezed his shoulders just a little tighter. "You are such a gentleman," she told him delightedly. "Don't think I won't take you up on that."

The three of them made their way downstairs, where dim recessed lighting made it possible to navigate the house without breaking one's neck. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, and the once bright and airy space now had a trace of gloom. Somewhere, down some hall, Emma could hear the distant clinking of glasses and the murmur of voices. Ruby led her and Henry away from the sounds, down a hall that led towards the back of the house. Eventually they came to tall double doors that Ruby swung wide open.

"Mary-Margaret!" Ruby called. "I wrangled you a new one!"

Henry seemed struck by a sudden case of shyness, and Emma had to wonder why he was only ever shy around people his own age. He shrank back against her, and Emma had to steer him into the room by his shoulders. The daycare center on the Lucas ranch was as top-of-the-line and beautifully designed as the rest of the house. Vaulted two story ceilings with dark wood beams and skylights would let plenty of light into the room come morning. For now, the place was lit brilliantly enough by recessed lighting and soft table lamps. Ceiling fans spun lazily overhead, circulating the air. The floor was covered in plush brown carpeting, a good color for avoiding stains, and most of the furniture was pint-sized. A big screen TV was set up along one wall with a game station grander than anything even Henry could have dreamed, and two boys were playing a video game in front of it, situated on large, overstuffed beanbags. More beanbags were scattered about the room. There was a large toy chest, a train set, a pretend kitchen, and an entire wall slathered in chalkboard paint. Two young girls were currently drawing huge flowers and insects on it under the careful instruction of a pretty, petite brunette, whose hair had been trimmed into a cute little pixie-cut. She was about Emma's age, and wearing a skirt printed with butterflies, paired with a baby blue cardigan set.

She looked like freaking Mary Poppins.

"Hey, Ruby!" she called cheerfully, waving from her spot across the room. Emma offered her a smile as she left the two little girls to their drawing and came over to say hi. "And who might this be?"

Ruby reached back and seized Henry's hand, tugging him forward. "This is the smartest, coolest, politest and most adorable kid in the world, Henry Swan."

Emma smiled as her kid blushed magenta. "Ruby!" he protested.

"Well, Henry, with a recommendation like that, I can't imagine we'll have any sort of trouble getting along," Mary-Margaret replied, smiling down at Henry. "My name is Miss Blanchard and I run the kid's center here."

"It's nice to meet you," Henry said dutifully, holding out his hand. Miss Blanchard smiled wider as she took his hand to shake.

"That's Grace and Violet drawing on the chalk wall," she announced. "And Roland and Nicolas are playing video games over there. Why don't you go introduce yourself?"

Henry agreed, tossed a shy goodbye to Emma and Ruby over his shoulder, and made his way towards the young boys.

"I'm Emma Swan," Emma said as soon as he was gone, shaking Miss Blanchard's hand. "Henry's my son."

"Oh, yes, I heard you were coming," Mary-Margaret replied. "The rumor on the ranch is that you're going to help Mrs. Lucas turn some desert find of hers into a fancy museum exhibit."

"Well, you already know more than me," Emma shrugged. Mary-Margaret smiled.

"Don't worry; I never listen to rumors," she said. "Henry's in great hands here. You can go about your work with Mrs. Lucas without worrying about him at all. I watch all the employees' kids here."

"And she loves it," Ruby interjected with a smirk. "Because it means she gets to miss cocktail hour."

Mary-Margaret hid a smirk of her own. "Ruby, I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't."

"All this talk about cocktail hour is really making me wish I'd stayed in my room," Emma spoke up. "Just so you know."

Ruby laughed. Mary-Margaret sighed and shook her head. "It's not as bad as she's making it sound," she said.

"Oh, yes it is," Ruby replied. "But on the bright side, Emma, it'll be worth a few laughs, at the least."

Mary-Margaret rolled her eyes, but the tiny smirk around the corners of her mouth made Emma think she agreed with Ruby's assessment much more than she wanted to let on. "Henry will eat dinner with you," she told Emma, changing the subject. "I keep the kids until they open the dining room, and then I take them in and hand them off to their parents. You should see him again in a couple hours."

"It'll feel like ten," Ruby chirped. "We should get going."

"Of course," Mary-Margaret waved, taking a step back into the room. "It was nice meeting you, Emma! I'll take good care of Henry."

"Thanks. Nice meeting you too."

"You both enjoy yourselves!"

Ruby snorted loudly, leading Emma firmly out of the room and shutting the double doors behind her. "Well, here we go," she said, linking her arm with Emma's and walking her down the hallway. Emma tensed slightly at the unexpected contact, but Ruby didn't seem to notice. "Sorry if I'm putting you off about this whole thing," she went on, steering Emma around a large potted cactus and turning her down a different hallway. "Mary-Margaret is right; it's cocktail hour, not hell. But for someone who's never experienced it before, well… it can be a bit overwhelming. I was only half-kidding earlier today when I talked about Granny supporting the loonies here on the ranch."

"Right," Emma said, shrugging. "Well, whatever crap you're walking me into, I'm sure I can handle it."

"I have no doubt you can," Ruby grinned. "But I hope you've got some idea what you've gotten yourself into."

"I did my research," Emma admitted. "I know what sort of studies your grandmother usually funds, and I have a pretty good idea what kind of guests you've got staying at the ranch."

Emma had, in fact, done a lot of research. In the weeks between receiving her acceptance letter from Granny and the actual flying down to Arizona bit, she'd been doing plenty of reading up on the crazy theories Granny Lucas' money had endorsed. It wasn't difficult to find out which ones she'd donated to; Regina had been more than happy to jot down a list, ranting the whole time about the stupidity of such ideas and the waste in donating to such people when the university could have used that money for _real_ studies. Emma had then fired up her Kindle and started reading as many books on the varying subjects as possible. Ruby's constant hints about the lunacy of cocktail hour would have been enough to put her on guard as it was, but Emma was forewarned and forearmed. She knew the people in the cocktail lounge would discuss Atlantis and the Mayans and the possibility of aliens creating the human race. She knew reincarnation would come up, as well as one or two crazies who believed they could talk to the spirit world. Emma wasn't purposely argumentative – no matter what anyone else might say – but she'd never been any good at sitting quietly and listening to crap without calling people out on it. She was prepared for a long, uncomfortable night, and most likely a quarrel or five.

"By the usual sort of studies my grandmother funds, you of course mean the loonies," Ruby said, and Emma felt a little guilty about thinking such negative things about Granny Lucas' scholarly pursuits. At least, she would have felt guilty if Ruby didn't seem to share in her negativity. "Seeing as you're an anthropologist studying to get her doctorate at a reputable university, I don't expect you to put a lot of stock into theories about Lost Atlantis and little green men in spaceships."

Emma shrugged again. "What can I say? Call me a skeptic."

"They will," Ruby assured her. "Just hang in there, though. I like you, Emma, and I'll respect you a lot more if you stick to your guns. And as long as you're not unnecessarily rude about it, so will Granny."

With those parting words of wisdom, Ruby and Emma's journey through the massive house finally came to a halt. There were no imposing double doors this time; instead, Ruby simply led her down a hallway towards an open arch. Emma heard the clinking and chattering from before, growing steadily louder as they approached. Then they rounded the corner, stepped through the arch, and Emma prepared herself for the night to take a turn for the worse.


End file.
